


Carpe Noctem

by heyitsafrog



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Dystopian, M/M, No Spoilers, Thomas-centric, newtmas - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 09:24:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2423579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyitsafrog/pseuds/heyitsafrog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They didn’t notice the helicopters, in the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carpe Noctem

**Author's Note:**

> So hello I wrote this for a Dystopian assignment at school, then decided to make it substantially more gay, and more suited to this gorgeous fandom. Not too happy with my writing, but hey. Please comment your considerations! ^_^

They didn’t notice the helicopters, in the beginning.

The clouds prevented that. The black, sinister, polluted clouds that spanned for miles and blocked out the ‘sun’. Gone were the ‘real’ clouds, the ones that inhabited the pages of the ‘WICKED Disapproved’ banned history books, the books that Grandfathers kept hidden away in their mattresses, under their floorboards, that they showed their Grandsons in secret, lest WICKED catch wind of their illegal possession and assign them again to a fate worse than hell.  

The helicopters were as black as death, moved in absolute silence, and left nothing behind- so it came to be quite a shock when the string of child disappearances was finally connected to something no one knew about. In the beginning, society collectively nicknamed them the Grievers. Bringing death and loss and an overwhelming sense of fear wherever they went. That was before the WICKED spokesman addressed them all, using fancy words such as ‘analysis’, ‘observations’, ‘experiments’, all ‘for the greater good’. This changed the opinions of almost everyone, who believed the lies because it was the easiest way. But that didn’t change the fact of what they were doing. Too bad nobody noticed anymore. 

WICKED were the supreme power in the state- everything and everyone was completely under their control. They used the children of the state for their own purposes- conscripting them into their ranks, to fight for the security of the state, to fight for the gentle and easy conformity that was provided by the authority that they held. The first day of their education, each child was implanted with a microchip- virtually undetectable, save the tiny scar on your hand. As the monotone voice that greeted each child every time explained, the chippings were implemented as a ‘precautionary measure’. They never explained what, exactly, they were a precaution for, but they were WICKED. They did what they pleased without consequence, as was the way of the world, how it is- how it was- and how it always will be.

* * *

 

It was Year 32 of WICKED's regime, and Thomas Green, son of revered Captain Jonathan Green of the VII Battle of the Isles, was to be the youngest man ever burdened with the glorious honour of becoming a soldier for WICKED. Due to his excellent academic achievements, he, out of all of the men from the Glade Academy of Warfare and Arms, had received the Confirmation, the signed letter of acceptance from WICKED themselves! He had been selected to lead the Battle of XIV, however far or near that time may be to the present day. He was to be frozen, stored in one of the many underground vaults that were hidden several floors underneath the gorgeous and monstrous impenetrable steel structure of the Headquarters of WICKED in the centre of the state, then memory wiped, and brought out only when needed- to become exactly what they needed.

In the beginning, the Grievers came erratically, taking a child whenever they saw fit, one a month, two a week, five a day. No one was safe, in those first few months. The children gradually began to return, one by one. Their families were so pleased, to have a child taken by WICKED, the and the honour that came with it. But the children had changed, somehow. They were quieter, subdued, more reserved, yet their passion for WICKED only grew. And it got worse, somehow. The Confirmations began to arrive in their mailboxes. They were being asked to die- not that they had any choice in the matter. 

'Thomas Edward Green', the small page felt like it was suffocating him- this couldn't be happening, not to him, not this soon. His father stepped up behind him. 

“I’m proud of you, son.” The satisfaction in his voice rung clear, each word seemingly another nail in his hypothetical coffin.

Thomas felt a tear slide down his face, which he wiped away in embarrassment. No, no weaknesses here. Not for him. It wouldn't change anything.

“I, I have to go.” He deadpanned, and ran out the door of their estate.

The confirmation! Oh the honour, oh the pride, oh the momentous and joyous liberation! He shook his head, he knew more, he knew better! They had taken everyone, his mother, his sister, his friends, even his father for a time. And now him. He was not a fighter- and he couldn't face this alone. He ran for what felt like hours, along the edge of the state, along the impenetrable wall that kept them ‘safe’- but safe from what? WICKED made it no secret what was on the other side of that grand wall- a poverty stricken desert, deathly creatures, a war and disease ridden society, full of untrusting fools who knew nothing of WICKED’s greatness- but were they being honest? Were they sincere about anything anymore? He rounded a corner, knocked on a familiar door, and found himself face to face with the only person he could trust, the one person who felt as strongly as he did against the WICKED regime.

“Newt.” He breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his best friend. “Thank god. I, I need your help. I’m so sorry. Please.”

Newt took one look at the face of his broken best friend and wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug.

Thomas knew what he had to do. And he couldn't do it alone.

* * *

 

Emotions were repugnant to WICKED, and any sort of relationship was frowned upon, platonic or otherwise- the only people you were meant to have an emotional connection to was WICKED themselves. It was easier this way, they had explained. This way you will not be burdened with the loss of a family member, or any other member of public. Thomas knew this, better than anyone. And he tried, he really did. But there was something about Newt. They had known each other since they were young boys, in the same WICKED junior troop. As they stuck together as they grew up, together realising the depth of WICKED’s corruption. Thomas and Newt. They were always together, ignoring the rest of the world, too engrossed in their own little fantasies, dreams of a world without the suffering and oppression that plagued their own. Even from a very young age, Thomas loved Newt, and Newt loved Thomas. That much was always evident. But neither boy had ever acknowledged it, and that is the way it would stay. Some emotions were able to be punished for in a more severe way than others, and they both knew that they could never face being without each other.

As they grew up, they became smarter, realising that the only way that they would make it in their world was to keep their heads down and at least pretend to conform to the ideals of their rulers. Suppress their feelings and instead just _live_ , at least as well as they could before it was too late. They had survived in this state for so long, with nothing happening, that Thomas had gotten sloppy. He simply forgot to suppress his intelligence, and began to excel in everything he did, eventually attracting the attention of WICKED.

You couldn't escape your fate, if they sent the Confirmation. There was nothing you could do- you were stuck. Destined to execute the will of your captors, your leaders, your saviours. They never went back on their word- to do that would be a sign of weakness and sympathy, emotions absolutely repellent to WICKED, and to all of their following of mindless drones who didn't see.

* * *

 

The Confirmation had detailed that he had thirteen days to set his affairs in order, say his goodbyes, and prepare for the sublime honour and staggering responsibility that serving in WICKED’s ranks would thrust onto him. Thomas had agreed to meet Newt at least once a day in order to devise a plan, his proud and uncomprehending father believing the feeble excuse of them still doing homework in order to prove themselves to WICKED.

Thirteen days until his ‘WICKED approved’ abduction. Twelve. Eleven… 

Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven.

One more week until his was taken away forever, to a place where all of his nightmares would come to life, take form and taunt him every day for the remainder of his lifetime. He knew that he just couldn’t. Couldn't face it. Could never face leaving Newt.

Six.

Five.

Four.

His father was overjoyed, his quiet enthusiasm growing in intensity each day, his pride in having his only son chosen for the most respected and revered task in the state shining and infecting and dripping off the walls of the already too large home. How could his father approve of this? His entire family had already been taken, he couldn’t possibly want Thomas to leave. All of the stress and worrying was making him sick. The only thing that kept him sane was the constant presence of Newt, helping him through the final days.

Three, Two, One.

The days passed in a blur. The plan that Newt had constructed was in order. WICKED would come to induct him at dusk. Fitting, Thomas thought. The day draws to an end just as his life does. Not that the end of the day mattered, of course, the sky had not been visible in at least two decades. They were trapped, trapped in an eternal and ethereal night. The sun had been one constant in the past- now it was only a dream, another object overpowered by WICKED, if only to show their strength.

With 10 minutes to go, Thomas was ready. Dressed in the WICKED approved military jumpsuit, he sat stone-faced at the all too big dining room table, facing his father, who had a small, almost wistful smile on his face.

“I am so proud of you, son. You will continue the honour of our family line. Lead them with honour, with cause, all in the name of WICKED. Praise them.”

Thomas gave a smile, feeling nauseous. 

3 more minutes.

Thomas got up to take his place at the front door. His father followed. Each step was harder than the last, but he knew what he had to do. As they reached the door he turned around. Steeling himself for his next actions.

“Father. I… I’m sorry that it has to end like this. Sir. It’s been... a pleasure.” He saluted and opened the door before stepping outside.

* * *

 

“You have to be fast.” Newt had said. “Impossibly fast, or all of this will be for nothing. I know. It will be hard leaving your father alone, but maybe one day… He will understand why.”

Newt had devised a plan to try to end this dictatorship once and for all. It was all for Thomas. Newt knew that Thomas would do anything to protect the people that he loved. Just as Newt would do anything to protect the one that he does.

* * *

 

Thomas ran, he ran as fast as he could. He never turned around to confirm if the Grievers were following- he knew without a doubt that they would be. This was to be a huge event- a battle leader being inducted, broadcasted everywhere- every billboard screen throughout the state, every WICKED-approved channel on each television. This was their only chance to make a change, however insignificant it may be. 

What a show, Thomas thought. While all other inductees greeted the Grievers at their own doors with confidence and pride, Thomas was doing the absolute exact opposite. The people would hate him. They were so fully indoctrinated to WICKED’s ideals, that they would take his act of rebellion as just that, rather than a statement about the world in which they live in.

* * *

 

“When you get to the field, Tommy, run straight into the middle. I will be there. I promise.” Newt had swore, his voice filled with emotion, a small and sad smile playing on his face. 

“Newt.” Thomas had said, a new round of hot tears finding their ways down his cheeks. “Thank you.”

* * *

 

Thomas could feel the tears flying off of his face as he ran for his life.

Faster, faster, faster! The field was in sight now, he noticed, so he pushed even harder.

He was almost there now, almost ready. He caught sight of Newt’s tall form in the middle of the field, and directed himself straight towards him.

20 paces

15, 10, 5.

He stopped next to Newt.

Suddenly, his situation became all too real. He turned around to see the looming shadow of the Griever that had pursued him all of the way, broadcasting this moment for the rest of the state to see. He took a deep breath.

Newt turned to Thomas. There were tears on both boy’s faces.

Newt smiled sadly. “Carpe Noctem. Seize the night, my Tommy.”

Thomas leaned forward and kissed him.

Newt kissed back, for a fraction of a second, pulled back, gave another small smile, and pulled the trigger of the detonator.

 

 

 

The white light of the explosion could be seen for miles.

 


End file.
